Right Before Our Eyes
by Dana E. Vassy
Summary: XF/Frasier crossover. A death in Seattle makes Mulder & Scully realise life is too short..


Frasier Crossover Fic  
  
Title: Right Before Our Eyes (1/2)  
Author: Dana E. Vassy (Lola's pseudonym)  
Rating: PG 13 for language/references  
Category: Character death, MSR  
Spoilers: nothing in particular, just anything up until orison is fair   
game though  
Summary: Our agents investigate a disappearance in Seattle, learning a   
valuable lesson from the  
loss of others. Scully POV  
Disclaimer: Chris you are the dude in the chair. Since you're well   
solid like, better no sue me  
right? Cuz that'd be well snide byreway. An ahm no hivvin it, right?   
The folk, even the ginga  
burd are yours and *the company's*, ken wit ahm saying? Luv Lola's   
Gorbals lawyer xxxx Same  
applies to the dudes that own Frasier, know?  
Dedications: To Jamie for cracking me up by talking like the gorbals   
lawyer for a solid hour lol  
  
I watched Mulder's expression as we waited in the stylish hallway.   
The place was slightly  
upmarket compared to what we were used to. Pushing memories of halls   
and bee stings from my  
mind, I turned on my FBI persona as a slight blonde man answered the   
door. He seemed nervous, yet  
overly courteous. It was obvious he had not been sleeping well. After   
the formal introductions,  
he ushered us into the eclectic sitting room. I was impressed,   
although it was not really my  
style. Still, it was time to focus on the case.  
  
We accepted the cappuccino offered to us as two other men joined us in   
the living room. The  
family unit was complete: Niles, Martin and Frasier Crane all seemed   
equally edgy. I could have  
cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. As soon as we enquired   
about the missing Ms Moon,  
Niles dissolved into tears. I realised for the first time that he must   
have some romantic  
involvement with the woman. Was this guilt? Or sheer desperation?   
The cynical side of my  
nature for once lost out to my compassion. I felt overwhelming   
sympathy for the man, as I knew  
only too well the fear of losing someone close. First Melissa then   
Mulder. I knew he would be  
willing to take any route to saving her, and somehow I knew I wanted to   
be there every step of the  
way. God, caffeine was having a strange effect on me.  
  
I saw that familiar determination on Mulder's travel-wearied face.   
That nothing would stop him  
from finding this 'abductee', a substitute for finding his sister.   
Sometimes I wished that he  
could let it go. Let everything rest – and try to deal with the actual   
pain instead of avoiding  
it. But who was I to demand a change in human nature?  
  
I moved over to the dining table in order to question the oldest Crane,   
Martin. He was a genuine  
salt-of-the-earth type: no nonsense, and no pretences. Whilst his sons   
seemed decent enough  
people, they seemed to be living some sort of sheltered existence where   
real life was replaced by  
culture and career. Martin explained that he was an ex-cop, but had   
found nothing so far that  
might aid us in our enquiries. Daphne Moon was his home   
physiotherapist, a quirky girl from  
England, but someone held in great affection by the whole family. As   
he saw me casting a worried  
glance towards Niles, he told me about the crush his son had on Daphne,   
even while still married  
to his horrible wife. Niles had summoned the courage to finally tell   
Daphne how he felt, only to  
find her missing. That had been three days ago. But none of her   
possessions were gone – the  
only other strange factor was that her bedroom window had been left   
wide. Scribbling a few  
hurried notes, I asked to be shown the bedroom in question. Frasier   
offered to show me while  
Mulder tried to glean information from the now hysterical Niles.  
  
My first judgement of Dr Crane had been too harsh, as I soon found out.   
When we were alone, I  
visibly saw the façade slip, and pain etched into the lines of his   
face. He came straight to the  
point and demanded to know whether I was optimistic about locating   
Daphne. I felt terrible to fob  
him off with the usual FBI doublespeak. On inspecting the room, I saw   
nothing extraordinary save  
for Ms Moon's good taste. CDs and videos were in neat, organised   
piles on the shelf. The books  
were an exemplary collection for any health care worker, or indeed for   
any female over thirty.   
Yet nothing suggested that she had been absent from the house at all.  
  
To save Mulder the trouble, I led the formal questioning of Frasier   
Crane. I found myself asking  
more questions than necessary, as his conversation was so engaging. He   
seemed very interested in  
me, and it felt good to have a requited understanding with someone.   
There was none of the  
insecurity that Mulder could leave me with – I felt as though Dr Crane   
was treating me as an  
equal. For once, I was not being shut out for being in opposition. My   
quasi-flirting drew  
nothing more than a disinterested glare from Mulder.  
  
Our chat was interrupted by the whirlwind arrival of Roz Doyle,   
Frasier's producer on his radio  
show. She barely got past brief "hello's" before making an obvious   
beeline for Mulder. Her  
opening line was something about a love of the FBI. I mentally rolled   
my eyes and headed for the  
kitchen with Frasier. The sound of flirtatious laughter followed me.  
  
About an hour later, after proper inspection of the premises, Mulder   
and I left the frantic  
apartment. He said nothing until we got to the car. I let him drive   
without complaint, as I had  
no great affection for Seattle roads. As he started the engine, he   
muttered something about  
jealousy. When I questioned him about it – he brought the topic of   
conversation around to the  
case at hand. He had a hunch, but teased me by not saying anything   
until he had the proof  
required to convince me.   
  
TWO DAYS LATER  
Seattle motel room  
  
I collapsed, exhausted, on to the uncomfortable bed. But with my   
current level of fatigue I could  
have lain on broken glass, just to get off my aching feet. If only I   
weren't so damn small -  
then I could be easily seen without the aid of three-inch heels. A   
cautious rap on the plain  
wood door rudely interrupted my peaceful moment. No prizes for   
guessing who. With a groan I  
dragged myself to open the thing, cursing under my breath. The good   
Catholic girl in me had  
evidently not made the trip to Seattle. However, I was in for a   
surprise…  
  
  



End file.
